I’ve been a teacher’s pet for as long as I can remember. It's something I’ll openly admit. I chalk it up to the fact that I was raised by a teacher. I’ve seen the behind the scenes of the average school day my whole life -- first when I attended my mom’s school, and then as I grew up and started to help.

I was never one of those kids who thought that teachers lived at school because my mom came home with me. I could prove it. Not only have I seen behind the curtain, something most students can’t say, but I’ve lived behind it. I would get to school early because my mom had to set up for the day, then stay late as she wrapped everything up. All of the staff knew me because I was one of the only faculty children that went to that school.

My best friend was another teacher’s daughter who also stayed after school. She was two grades ahead of me, but we only had each other when our moms did “boring teacher stuff.” We ran that school. I got sick a lot as a child, but I would go to her classroom instead of the nurse’s office. All the students knew me because I was “Mrs. Schulz’s daughter.” The fact that that association never bothered me was probably a foreshadowing of my current predicament.

I was raised around teachers by a teacher. Most of my mom’s friends are from work, which means most of her friends are also teachers. When they talk shop, it’s about lesson plans. Not only is my mother a teacher, so is my father -- and my grandmother and my great-aunt and uncle. The list goes on.

The fact of the matter is, the majority of my mom’s side of the family are teachers. My mother and father met because they both worked at the same school. I have the teaching gene, and the only reason I’m not lined up to continue the family tradition is the general lack of respect teachers receive -- but that’s a whole different article.

I only attended the same school as my mother for two years, before we moved away and I had to go to school in our new district. Yet I still visited my mom’s school regularly. It was not uncommon for me to skip school just to go to her class instead. I’ve been her “teacher’s assistant” since I was little. Sure, at the beginning I wasn’t much help.

Now, I’m a bonafide assistant. The highlight of going to school with her was eating in the teachers’ lounge. There was a big sign on the door that said “no students allowed,” and I was able to breeze right by it. Plus I had access to the vending machine. To be honest, I still love eating lunch with her, though she moved schools and doesn’t eat in the lounge anymore. Maybe I’ll ask her to re-enact my glory days.

I never had the intention of becoming the teacher’s pet. I’ve always tried -- and usually succeeded -- to connect with my teachers, because I was used to them on a level that most students are not. Teachers are people -- people who happen to grade your papers. That’s not a revolutionary thought for rational thinking adults, but for a lot of elementary schools kids, not so much.

Once I got to middle school, I started staying behind to talk to my teachers, first about assignments, then about life, because it was like talking to family. I wanted to be a good student, but you develop a relationship pretty quick if you stick around enough.

I was used to helping my mom around her classroom, so helping out my teachers wasn’t much of a stretch. I had the advantage of being pre-trained. Soon enough, I was seeing behind the curtain of my teachers' lives too. Once they realize I’m a teacher’s daughter, they let their guard down. I’ve heard it all.

Teachers were not afraid to talk shit in front of me, to say it bluntly. And if I was the first person at my middle school to be chosen by two separate teachers for the student of the month, thus accidentally receiving the award twice because it was an unprecedented event, then so be it.

I try my best not to be “that kid.” The kid that when they talk, everyone groans. “Not her again.” But I’m not afraid to speak up. Whether I know the answer or not, I’m going to contribute. Obviously, my family instilled the idea that education is important. But I received that message from a different point of view -- from the people actually giving the education.

When you respect the people giving you your education and see them as people instead of teachers, you get something different out of the experience. I never, in all of my years of education, gave much thought to the fact that I should thank every one of my teachers every day after they are done teaching.

That is, until I walked out of a lecture this semester, said thank you to my professor, and heard the people directly behind me mutter “I’ve never said thank you to a teacher. Why would you?” They all laughed and went on their merry way, but I was shocked. Partly because I was a little embarrassed for being called out like that, but also because the statement seemed so ignorant.

My mother spent an entire summer vacation rewriting the entire third-grade math curriculum for her school district. I watched her work all day and could barely interact with her because she had so much to do. She devotes her life to her students, and so do many other teachers. It's hard not to respect people who do that when you experience that dedication daily.

So yes, maybe I’m “that kid.” Maybe I’ve only skipped two classes since I got to college because I actually wanted to go to class and talk to my professors. Maybe I actually go to office hours, even if its just to talk to them about their day.

Maybe I sit at the front of the class, more often than not in the first row, and talk to the professor before and after class instead of my peers. I’m a teacher’s pet. And I’ve heard from a couple reliable sources that it's hard to fail a face, so I don’t plan on changing anytime soon.